


Pulse

by tattooeddevil



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Ending, Episode: s01e21 All Hell Breaks Loose Part 1, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-24 23:57:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattooeddevil/pseuds/tattooeddevil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean does the one thing he never thought he would do, ever; he begs. Only for Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pulse

_The knife slides in and up. Sam's eyes bulge out before dimming. No!_  
  
His hands are covered in warm, sticky blood. He leaves bloody fingerprints and smears every time he grapples to feel Sam’s pulse, but Dean can’t take his hands off Sam long enough to look for something to wipe them with. His clothes are soaked with blood too and the upholstery of the car is slowly starting to get slippery with it. But there is still a pulse, no matter how weak.  
  
Sam’s heartbeat slows for what seems like the hundredth time in as many hours, when it’s really only been a few minutes. Time slowed down as he watched Sam sink to his knees and collapse in his arms, but now everything spins out of control and he can only go with it. Trust Bobby to get them somewhere there’s help for Sam. Somewhere they can save Sam.  
  
Fingertips slip and lose the weak pulse before frantically trying to get it back. Dean’s mind is a constant loop of ‘nonononononono’ until he finds a faint thump-thump-thump and he can swallow back the bile. For now. Sam starts slipping from his grasp, the blood making it difficult to keep a hold of his shirt with one hand while the other stays firmly pressed against Sam’s throat. He shifts and hauls Sam up a little, a fresh gush of hot blood oozing from Sam’s back. It’s a sign of life.  
  
With Sam’s back against his chest, Dean can feel every little shiver in Sam’s body. With every bump in the road, Sam shudders slightly and with every corner Bobby takes at the highest speed possible, Sam tenses minutely. Dean knows Sam’s in pain, even if Sam can’t express it himself. It’s in the shallow gasps he takes and the white knuckled grasp Sam has on his jeans. It’s in the way Sam keeps trying to roll his head to look at Dean beggingly.  
  
And then Sam goes limp.  
  
No more shivers, no more gasps, no more shudders. For one terrifying moment, time stops altogether and Dean can’t breathe. All the air has been sucked from the car, everything suddenly too small and hot. There’s a voice far away, but he can’t understand what it is saying through the thundering blood in his ears. It’s just him and Sam.  
  
“Sam? Sammy?”  
  
There’s still a faint pulse under his fingertips, but it’s slipping. Sam’s slipping.  
  
“Nononononono, don’t do this to me, Sam!”  
  
He wraps his other arm around Sam, grasps his shoulder to keep him close, and buries his face in Sam’s neck. He closes his eyes and does the thing he never, ever thought he’d do; he begs.  
  
“You can’t let go, Sam, please. Don’t let go. I can’t do this without you. You can’t let them win, please. Fight Sam, just fight. Stay with me, okay? Stay with me, don’t let go.”  
  
Sam doesn’t respond. No movement, no soft moans, no pained puffs of air. Nothing but silence.  
  
“You can’t let go, Sam, please. What am I gonna do, huh? I can’t do this alone, I need you with me. Please, don’t let go.”  
  
He’s not sure how long he begs Sam not to stop fighting, not to let go, not to die. It could be minutes, it could be hours. All he knows is the steady rise of panic inside him, taking him over and choking him. Fear is a cold ball in the pit of his stomach, growing fast. He begs for something,  **anything**  to save Sam, save him, save  **them**. Nothing happens.  
  
“Dean?”  
  
Bobby’s voice drags him from his haze and back to the cold, rainy world around them. It’s dark, but there are lights pouring in from outside of the car.  
  
“Where are we?”  
  
“The hospital. You have to let him go, Dean, let the doctors take him.”  
  
It’s then that he realizes the cool air surrounding them, blowing in through the open doors. There are faces around them, unknown faces above white coats. Expressions of shock and horror accompany stethoscopes and nametags. Doctors.  
  
“Dean.”  
  
He can’t. He can’t let go of Sam. What if this is the last time he sees him? What if he’ll never hold him again? What if this is it?  
  
He closes his eyes again, burying his face in Sam’s hair. He inhales deeply - one last time? - before pressing a kiss to Sam’s head.  
  
“What am I supposed to do, Sammy? Huh? Am I supposed to just let you go? Tell me what to do.”  
  
He nearly faints with relief when one of Sam’s hand tighten weakly in his jeans where it’s resting. Sam’s still here, still fighting, still alive.  
  
“You keep fighting, okay? Don’t you dare leave me.”  
  
Another soft squeeze and then what feels like hundreds of hands are pulling Sam away from him, leaving a gaping hole of missing Sam and fear. He wants to follow, stay with Sam, but nurses steer him to a private bathroom and hands him scrubs to change into. He stares at himself in the mirror for long minutes; staring at the blood covering his hands and clothes and face; staring at his wide shocked eyes; staring at what’s left of him. It’s not much, but it’ll have to be enough. Until he gets Sam back.


End file.
